


it's not all roses

by oculata



Series: the beginning of forever [8]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Boyfriends, Dorks in Love, Episode Related, Fluff and Angst, Gap Filler, Homecoming, Ian Missing Mickey, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Promises, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oculata/pseuds/oculata
Summary: Mickey is finally home.(10x06 fill-in fic)
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: the beginning of forever [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1524932
Comments: 39
Kudos: 300





	it's not all roses

**Author's Note:**

> 10x06 was a disappointment. here’s what we should have seen. (i wrote this instead of sleeping—that's how upset i was at that episode.)
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_clennam)
> 
> **edit:** i just want to say thank you to everyone who read this, left kudos, commented, or sent me something to my Curious Cat/on Twitter. i appreciate all of your kind words and encouragement, and i'm happy that i could alleviate the disappointment at least a little. keep being awesome <3
> 
>  **edit 2:** lol that awkward moment when some of this was canon but the scenes just got cut because shameless is homophobic

Everyday, when Ian came home, he wanted to do nothing more than hug Mickey. His “job” was draining every fiber of his being by testing him morally and dumping guilt on him at every turn. The worst part of it was that it had only been a few days of him getting entangled in Paula’s conniving web—he had so much fucking time left under her grasp. He was trapped under this wave of unchecked control, and the humanity in him was being slaughtered. He felt like the very fabric of what made him human was being shredded right before his eyes.

At least if he had Mickey around, it would have been easier. Mickey could hold him and stroke his hair and tell him that his days with Paula were numbered. He could have whispered some reassurances to him in the dead of night while he cried about this impossible spot that he was stuck in, then given him a kiss and promised him that they would trudge through it together. He hadn’t yet told Mickey about the situation, but he was certain that even miles away and trapped behind concrete walls, Mickey would calm him and assure him that everything would be okay even if he had to crack a few skulls to get there. He knew it all—he never doubted Mickey’s unwavering need to protect him—but the physical reassurance of having his body there to mold against, to feel his beating heart in his chest as he spoke those words in Ian’s ear and idly played with his ears would have made the situation easier to face.

Instead, he was once again returning to a house that felt empty despite the gaggle constantly rotating in and out. He never felt at home. If he hadn’t had that homecoming party thrown for him, it would have been easy for him to forget that he was locked away in prison for months at all. He was indescribably lonely, and the one person who made his world feel warm, comfortable, and safe was still locked away from him miles away. He was appreciating more and more each day how Mickey held his whole life and self together by just existing, and being away from him was tearing Ian apart.

There were pieces of Ian strewn haphazardly around the South Side, waiting for Mickey to come home and collect them so he could put Ian back together. Ian worried that Mickey was going to have a very hard time finding every bit of him at this rate.

He entered the house and floated through the commotion, going almost completely unnoticed by everyone inside. The only recognition he earned by anyone came in the form of a couple of Anne’s family members sneering his way when he accidentally knocked into them. He only sighed a little, mumbled his apologies, finished shuffling through the crowd while trying to make his big body as small as possible, and went up to his room.

He sat down on his small bed with a long breath. At least the bedroom was quiet right now, he reasoned, so he could have some time to himself where he could just lay under the sheets and try to ignore the stabbing feeling in his heart until he had to go back out and pretend everything was fine. He turned his head around to look down at his sheets and felt his eyes sting a little—it would have been wonderful if Mickey could just appear in his rightful spot in that bed again.

He shook his head vigorously, trying to will himself to not cry just yet. He rose from the bed and made his way over to the hamper across the room. He took off his shirt, and right as he fully regained his composure, there was an empathic grunt and the crinkling of a shutter coming from the window.

“Shit!”

Ian whipped around with a shout and watched the black-haired head that could have only been Mickey’s fling itself into the room and onto the bed. Mickey crawled in more, flipping over onto his back once he was mostly inside and kicking his feet at the shutter with a peeved grunt, as if the window had offended him somehow. Ian didn’t blame him—that window probably had it coming if it was making Mickey’s life so difficult.

“What’re you doing here?” Ian asked, befuddled.

“Long story,” Mickey began, out of breath as he tried to squirm off the bed. “Ends in compassionate release.”

Ian blinked between Mickey and the window. “Why’d you climb through the window?”

“Bunch of fuckin’ Mexicans out front!” Mickey replied with his brows furrowed as he stood up from the bed, still huffing in an attempt to get some air into the lungs that were only feeling smaller and smaller. “What’s that about anyway?”

Ian could feel the smile slowly working its way onto his face. Mickey had been back in his world for less than thirty seconds, and he was already saying shit with his usual dry flair. It was insane to him how quickly Mickey could come back into his life and assert himself like he had never been absent in the first place.

“It’s a long story,” Ian said rather thoughtfully. The corners of his mouth raised a little. “Ends in all-you-can-eat tamales.”

Mickey was still far from him, still trying to get air into his lungs, but Ian could see that beam on his face—that gorgeous smile, where his lips framed his teeth perfectly; where his cheeks would fold along his laugh lines in the cutest way; where his eyes crinkled so sweetly. He always managed to look more precious than one could ever imagine.

Finally, that smile, the one that Ian hadn’t been able to produce since he said goodbye to Mickey, came back onto his face.

“Come here.”

And Mickey did. He walked right over into Ian’s arms, and the grins etched onto their faces only came off when their lips connected.

Ian ran his hand up the nape of Mickey’s neck and into his hair, but that wasn’t enough for him. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes again, and his need to _feel_ Mickey as close to him as possible consumed him. He threw his other arm around Mickey’s shoulders and pulled him in closer. He could feel the pressure Mickey’s cheek was putting on his nose, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. He just pulled Mickey closer and closer until their chests were pressed together so tightly that it hurt. But neither of them complained. They just kissed and kissed and kissed and pushed against each other as if the world was ending.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless and had the goofiest smiles. They looked at each other, and Mickey swore he could see Ian’s eyes twinkle.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Ian asked, grabbing Mickey’s hand and guiding them to sit on the bed. “I could’ve picked you up.”

“You and what fuckin’ car?” Mickey started. “Do they even let you around vehicles anymore?”

Ian turned his eyes heavenward before casting them down to where Mickey’s hand was being cradled by his in his lap. He’d missed Mickey’s sharp tongue and digs more than he could describe. He ran his thumb over Mickey’s knuckles, looking at how the edges of his tattoos were feathering. “One: they do. And two: Lip’s girlfriend has one of those Fiat cars. It’s cute.”

Mickey raised his brows and looked down at Ian. “Oh, we’re sayin’ words like cute now, huh?” he teased.

Ian’s smile only grew. He looked back up at Mickey, and then he felt his blood cool and concern wash over him.

“Oh, Jesus,” he gasped quietly. Using his free hand, he reached over and dragged a gentle touch around the edge of the scab on Mickey’s cheekbone. “When did that happen?”

Mickey watched Ian’s face, a dagger of guilt pushing itself into him as he saw Ian’s big, worried eyes dart between his forehead and cheek. “‘Nother long story. Ends in me jumping off the bus drivin’ me to your place.”

Ian’s bottom lip trembled. He dropped his hand from Mickey’s face and clasped it over the hand that he was already holding. He looked into Mickey’s eyes. “Can you tell me more?”

Mickey sighed, and his gaze bounced around the bedroom.

“Wait, let’s get you cleaned up first,” Ian said before Mickey could collect the words for his statement. He sprang to his feet and dragged Mickey to the bathroom.

Standing before the sink, Ian shuffled through the medicine cabinet for a bit and eventually pulled out some alcohol pads and a tube of neosporin. He washed his hands thoroughly and then tore the alcohol pad packet open.

“This gonna keep them from getting infected?” Mickey inquired as he watched Ian’s movements.

Ian turned to face him and rolled his lips into his mouth as he pondered the question. “Honestly, not really, but it’ll make me feel better.”

Mickey was about to smile but the expression quickly changed course to him baring his teeth when the alcohol hit his wound and stung like a bitch.

“Fuck,” he whined.

“Sorry,” Ian offered as he dabbed the wound.

“It’s fine,” Mickey said and looked down at Ian’s lower half. “Fuck’s with the accountant pants?”

Ian froze for a moment, and Mickey could see the panic flash in his eyes.

“What?” Mickey prodded.

“My, uh,” Ian began sheepishly, turning away from Mickey to discard the alcohol pads. He twisted open the neosporin tube and continued, “parole officer is an insane, corrupt piece of shit who is forcing me to commit insurance fraud or else she’ll send me back to prison.”

Mickey’s jaw dropped, and he looked at Ian incredulously. “Are you fucking kiddin’ me? I’m gonna fucking kill—”

“Don’t do that, please,” Ian entreated as he dabbed the product on. “Look, it’s fine. I’ll deal with it. I just wanna take care of you right now.”

Mickey gnawed at his bottom lip and was about to protest until he caught the serious but pleading look in Ian’s eyes. Whoever the fuck this crazy parole officer was, she had clearly already done a number on Ian in just a few days, and Mickey was going to be just as enraged about it later as he was in that moment. Perhaps it could wait.

“Alright,” Mickey capitulated. “But you better tell me later, Ian.”

“Yeah, I will,” Ian promised quietly with a small grin. He finished applying the product and returned the tube to the medicine cabinet. When he turned back to Mickey, he had an expectant look on his face.

“So—you, flying off a bus, fucked up face. How’d we get there?” Ian asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mickey exhaled a tired breath and reached up to scratch at his temple.

“Basically, at the same time I got told that I’m gettin’ out, I also heard that the cartel might be after me.” Ian shifted in his stance. “So I’m on this bus, nervous as fuck already, and then I see this fuckin’ prissy ass car with tinted windows roll up right next to me, and I lose my shit. Think it’s a hitman or something. So I get the bus driver to open the door and just jump out while he’s still drivin’. Guess my landing wasn’t so good since, ya know.” He pointed at his face. “Anyway, I take off down into this fuckin’ forest or somethin’, but the car finds me. Swear I’m dead in that moment, and I wasn’t gonna get to see you. But the dude comes out lookin’ like one of Donald Trump’s kids; says he’s my parole officer who wants to give me a ride home.”

Ian stood shock-still. “Wow.”

Mickey bit at his lip again. “Yeah.”

Ian blinked a few times as all the pieces of Mickey’s insane story clicked into place for him, and with each passing detail that manifested itself in his mind, his jaw got closer and closer to the floor.

Ian’s panicked voice grew louder the more he spoke. “Wait, the fucking cartel is after you? What the fuck? How the fuck can I protect y—?!”

Mickey came in close and placed a finger over Ian’s lips to silence him.

“Hey, shh,” Mickey shushed. “It’s okay.”

Ian shook his head away from Mickey’s finger. “No, it’s fucking not! I don’t know how—”

“Hey,” Mickey interrupted again in a gentle voice. “I’m here now. Alright? We’re together now, and we can figure that out later. Right now, I just kinda wanna…” he trailed off, eyes moving down to look at how Ian’s collarbone was protruding. Mickey wet his lips as his gaze traced over Ian’s chest and neck. He reached a hand down and slid his palm over Ian’s thigh.

Ian was concerned beyond belief, but Mickey was very clearly not in the mood for a serious conversation. As much as Ian wanted to keep pursuing the topic right then, that damn hand running up and down his thigh was rather distracting, and Mickey just looked so gorgeous.

“Alright,” Ian whispered.

Mickey looked up at him with a twinkle in his eyes. “So. What were we doin’ before you decided you wanted to play EMT again?” Mickey said with a smirk as his hand trailed up to Ian’s bare chest.

Ian had to submit—how could he not with those blue eyes looking up at him through those pretty lashes and that lustful look on Mickey’s face? There was always later, he reminded himself.

Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey’s waist and pressed their bodies together, dipped his head down, and locked their lips together once again. At the encouragement of an excited little moan that Mickey hummed against their mouths, Ian began leading them back into the bedroom.

* * *

“The fucking _warden_ told you?” Ian gasped as he handed the cigarette back to Mickey.

“Yeah, man,” Mickey confirmed as he took a drag. He shifted around on the towel he was laying on. “Fucker looked like he got a kick out of it, too.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ian said, feeling like all the air was being sucked out of his lungs. “That’s fucking terrible.”

“Whatever,” he replied, his voice sounding strained from the smoke in his lungs. “That crazy P.O. bitch of yours is a real winner, too. Can’t they tell if piss came from a dude or a chick when they do the test?

“I’d rather not chance it,” Ian said with a humorless laugh as he took the cigarette from Mickey. “She’ll just say I took some girl’s piss and tried to pass it off as my own. So then I’ll be back in prison, _and_ I’ll look like a fucking idiot.”

“Already look like one, though,” Mickey teased. He snickered when Ian elbowed him in the side.

It was quiet for a moment, the ribbon of smoke rising from between them and their breaths being the only entities filling the room. They were both thinking many thoughts—some more pleasant than others, but they’d still circle back to the ones that depressed the hell out of them.

“Ian, I’m pretty scared,” Mickey’s small voice called out into the void.

“Hey,” Ian began reassuringly, quickly stubbing out the cigarette before turning to lay on his side and throw an arm over Mickey’s chest. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna figure it out.”

Mickey turned his head towards Ian, and Ian could see his scleras already reddening and the corners of his eyes becoming wetter.

“Yeah?” he asked, sounding like a small, hurt puppy.

“Yeah,” Ian replied with confidence. He leaned in and pressed a kiss onto the tip of Mickey’s nose. “We’re gonna be fine. I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you, okay?”

Mickey swallowed loudly. “Okay.”

They fell silent again with their foreheads and noses pressed together, Ian’s arm practically glued to Mickey’s chest, and Mickey digging his nails desperately into Ian’s wrist.

“I’m not gonna let anyone fucking touch you either,” Mickey said after a while.

Ian nodded and tightened his hold. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to my wonderful friends and everyone on Twitter who supported my writing this. and thank you to an anon on my Curious Cat who suggested part of this fic! let's hope 10x07 is better.


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